


Nostalgia Report

by Monsterunderkilt



Series: The Manse [26]
Category: Actor RPF, Celebrities - Fandom, RPF - Fandom, Real Person Fanfic - Fandom, Real Person Fiction
Genre: F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:55:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27290821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monsterunderkilt/pseuds/Monsterunderkilt
Summary: Stephen and I have a dinner date and chat about the good old days of the late aughts.
Series: The Manse [26]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1209447





	Nostalgia Report

It’s early evening, the sun staining the Bob Ross clouds bright pink and orange. As I walk up the stairs leading to the second floor landing of the Guesthouse, I notice music faintly leaking out of Stephen’s apartment door. I stand there for a moment, smoothing my little black tank dress and checking for lint. Just as I am about to raise my hand to knock, the door swings inside, creating a slight vacuum and sucking me toward the threshold. I barely breathe before Stephen, grinning wildly, wraps an arm around me and sucks me in the rest of the way, then turns to kick the door shut behind us.

Miami Sound Machine is blasting on the stereo and I hold on for dear life as Stephen spins me around and dips me. Mid-dip, he pauses his lip-syncing of Gloria Estefan’s “Conga” lyrics just long enough to give me a welcome kiss, then tosses me back onto my feet.

“Good evening, Madam!” Stephen yells over the music. “Computer, volume three!” Alexa promptly lowers the sound to a tolerable level and Stephen tugs me into a warm hug. “I missed you.”

I close my eyes eyes and hug him in return, rubbing his back through the loose Hawaiian shirt he’s chosen, its flamingo and scarlet macaw print as loud as the music that greeted me. He kisses the top of my head and I feel my entire body just want to flop to the ground. He’s a wonderful absorber of negative ions in that way. “I missed you too,” I say, even though we had just seen each other that morning at the kitchen table for the usual tea and coffee.

Still half-hugging me, he leads me over to the little two-person dining table set up in the breakfast nook with the big plate glass windows overlooking the edge of the Manse grounds as they slope down toward a white sandy beach below. “I had the Manse settle down on Earth for the evening, I hope you don’t mind. I just wanted the right mood.”

I grin up at him as I sit and he pushes my chair in for me. “This is lovely, Stephen, thank you.”

“Let me just get you a beverage and a starter,” he says with a waiter’s tone of voice.

I notice that his hips are still moving to the beat of the music as he saunters into the kitchen. I stare out the window for a moment, leaning back into my chair and taking in this perfect little escape from the usual. I am altogether ready for an evening of nostalgia. It’s all we have in these trying times, after all.

Stephen comes back with a tray and places a tall frosty glass in front of me with a bamboo straw and a red cocktail umbrella sticking out of it. It’s a vaguely pinkish hue. “La Floridita for Madam... nice and strong just like Hemingway liked it...and... her favourite treat...” Stephen picks up a small plate from the tray and sets it down before me with much reverence. He stands at attention, pride in his posture.

My jaw drops. I glance between him and the plate of what looks like an exquisite little mound of steak tartare. At first I’m blushing with excitement, but then I’m suspicious. “You didn’t make this.”

“No, I am not suicidal,” he says, his smile never waning. “I had this picked up from the NoMad in Manhattan. I figure they know what they’re doing with raw beef salsa.”

My mouth waters at the sight of the half shell of speckled quail egg perched on top, tiny seasoned toasts on the side. I press my hand over my heart and my eyes roll back into their sockets. I reach out and grasp Stephen’s forearm. “Oh, Stephen... I miss everything about New York. Especially you.”

He makes a full bow, then salutes me and takes a seat on the other side of the table. I stand up and lean over, taking him by the lapels to reward him with a nice kiss, as he so deserves. He flutters his eyelashes at me. I sit back down and pick up my cocktail for a toast. “I just wanted to do that before I get mustard breath.”

Stephen chuckles and lifts his own cocktail—a double Old Fashioned—and we clink glasses.

Hours pass as we rehash old times, laughing about all the crazy fun things that went on at the studios of _The Daily Show_ and _The Colbert Report_. We migrate out onto the apartment’s back balcony overlooking the beach. We’re cuddling together on a wicker loveseat, feeling the cool weather begin to descend on the evening. The little white Christmas lights wrapped around the metal railing twinkle in our eyes and make our crystal champagne glasses sparkle warmly.

“Remember ‘08 when Jon moved the whole kit ‘n kaboodle to Denver for two weeks during the DNC and I had a nasty cold and Oliver met us at the airport and I treated him like the butler?” Stephen recalls with a grin.

I nearly snort into my glass. “Oh I remember all too clearly. Poor Joliver.”

“Poor nothing! He was the senior correspondent for the whole circus.”

“You still envy him that? By then you were three years into the _Report_ and were doing fantastic!”

“Not fantastic enough for Viacom to send my show to any conferences!” Stephen says, nearly spilling his drink with the gesticulation that accompanied his outburst.

I roll my eyes and wave a dismissive hand at him. “You didn’t have any correspondents. What the hell were you gonna do there? Park your desk on the DNC stage?”

“Do the whole thing myself, of course. I am my own formidable opponent. I can be several reporters.”

“Oh Stephen, you wept all over Jon’s shoulder the moment we got to his office and begged him to let you do a segment for TDS for old times’ sake!”

Stephen’s eyes go wide. “I did not,” he says breathlessly. “I was battling a hell of a cold. It only sounded like I was blubbering, but I was just blowing my nose.”

“Riiiiiiiight,” I say, taking a deep sip of my bubbles. “Anyway, speaking of crying... election night this year. Are we staying up late together or what?”

“I’m praying it’s not an exact repeat of four years ago, sweetheart, but if you want a drink at some point during the night, I’m with you.”

“Ok, that’s all I need to know. All these Brits in the Manse won’t quite understand what we’re going through, so I really need backup, no matter what happens.”

Stephen clinks his glass with mine and kisses my cheek. “Fuckin’ A, Madam.”

We take a sip and stare out at the calm waves before us, their white noise matching our breathing. We sit for a few minutes, my head resting on his shoulder as he massages my arm, keeping me warm as we finish our beverages in silence. I feel so relaxed that my eyes begin to droop.

“Do you ever think you’d want to recreate the whole Big Love vibe we had back in ‘08?” Stephen says softly, sincerely.

I yawn and look up at him. “Hell no, Stephen. I don’t have the energy for that anymore. I’m fine with a few husbands and boyfriends and girlfriends.”

“That’s what I thought,” he says, nodding. He finishes off his drink and sets down the glass on the table. He hugs me closer with both arms. “I’m glad you and Ken finally got hitched, you know.”

“You are?”

“Yes, indeed. He’s good for you. I’m thankful that he’s helped you get through your tough times.”

I feel tears well up and I blink them away. “Thank you,” I say, tilting my face up at him. I smile. “You’re helping as well.”

Stephen winks at me. “How long have we known each other? Something like twenty-two, twenty-three years?”

“Yeah, about that long. I started watching The Daily Show in the Craig Kilborn days.”

Stephen sighs and shakes his head. “Holy moly, woman, we’ve been through some shit, have we not?”

I laugh and touch his cheek, still blinking my tears out of my eyes even as he makes me smile more than I thought possible at this point in 2020. “I love you, Stephen. I adore you even.”’

“Ditto, corn muffin. Let’s do this more often.”

“Let’s,” I say, pointing at my empty champagne glass. “That is broken.”

“Yes it is. But we drank it all.”

“Time for tea then.”

“That’s probably the most advisable course of action.”

“I’ve heard bone broth works really well if you’re particularly squiffy. Replenishes the essential nutrients.”

“Drink ‘em if you got ‘em.”


End file.
